


Reciprocity

by lasprezzatura



Series: Acts of God [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Art, Conversations, Creative License, Death, Everything is inside his head, Grief/Mourning, Grieving Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal reimagines scenes from the past, Hannibal sees Will everywhere, Heavy Angst, Italy, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Hannibal Lecter, Pain, Parts of this will not make sense, Poetic, Regret, Some Slight Graphic Descriptions, What would have happened if Will died in Mizumono?, What-If, Written without a format, dead will graham, sorry for any inaccuracies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23385424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasprezzatura/pseuds/lasprezzatura
Summary: "I killed you, when you killed me."His steps haltered to a stop, an involuntary flinch escaping his carefully composed persona at his companion's candor. He tried to speak, several times, but each time he opened his mouth, nothing came out.Eventually, Will shook his head, tilted his face towards the sun, and absentmindedly spoke. "Look at the beautiful sky, Hannibal."And he did. He looked at the streaks of gold highlighted all along the blue landscape, the clear clouds shuffling along as the wind picked up speed. And once he was all alone again, in the solitude of his house, he laid in bed and used messy and tainting charcoal to paint a beautiful portrait of a man's back, curls in disarray, eyes closed and lips pulled together in a smile.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Acts of God [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697392
Comments: 14
Kudos: 124





	Reciprocity

The hand behind Will's neck rubbed comfortingly in circles, fingers catching on some strands of curly hair as Will gasped and leaned heavily against him.

He brought them closer together, feeling something foreign in his chest when Will cried out in pain. Both of his arms were now completely around Will, one hand cradling the back of his head as if he held a newborn child, the other coiled around his torso, gripping tightly. Both ignored the steady flow of blood seeping from the wound to Hannibal's body.

It smelled metallic, crude, betrayed, yet fond.

"Time did reverse," Hannibal mused out loud, his mouth next to Will's head, "the teacup that I shattered did come together." 

When Will fell to the ground, looking with hazy eyes to the man still holding the linoleum knife- once shiny but now marred with flaking blood- he felt his mind slowly drain away. The quiet of the stream became dry, fishes asphyxiating in the barren ground, and the stag- once standing silent and commanding- now fell on his legs, blood pouring out of its side as it huffed its last breaths of this world, preparing to go to the next.

"Do you believe you could change me, the way I already changed you?"

"I already did."

Those simple words cost him more energy than he expected, and the burning in his stomach now throbbed to the beat of his fading heart. The expression on Hannibal's face was one of acceptance and resignation.

And when he slashed Abigail's throat, he felt no regret. 

That night, Abigail Hobbs gave one last breath as her wounds reopened, her throat bleeding again, and whose death indeed was at the hands of her father.

And Will Graham closed his eyes next to his daughter (in another life), surrendering to the quiet of the stream where he might have been happy, had it not been for the dying stag reminding him of a lost chance.

-

Will Graham kept fighting for a long time after that fateful night.

Some nights, he would shake and sweat, tremors passing through his body as his eyes moved widely behind his eyelids. His wounds would reopen, flooding the rooms with the smell of blood. Some nights, he would remain as still as a painting hanging in the Uffizi Gallerie. His breath was subdued, his heart beat slow, his eyes still.

The coma could help only so much.

Physicians continued to say that, at this point, his recovery was just a matter of how hard Will wanted to live.

Perhaps that is why his heart stopped beating one day, after days and days of losing its strength. 

After being broken by the devil himself.

-

Will Graham, the FBI's most successful bloodhound, was officially declared dead at 11:37 P.M. by the Johns Hopkins Hospital staff.

-

There was a small funeral held for Will Graham, a reunion of sorts for all the victims of the Chesapeake Reaper.

Alana Bloom and Jack Crawford were the first in attendance, one in a wheelchair and the other with a bandaged neck.

Behind them, a little off the distance, was Margot Verger, who came simply out of duty for the man who gave her what she wanted the most, and whose child was taken from them both.

Trying to stay hidden, Freddie Lounds crouched from her place a few meters away, holding a camera that held a million pictures of the empty casket of yet another victim of Hannibal Lecter.

-

In Wolf Trap, Virginia, in a house in the middle of the woods, the lights were on, making it appear as though it were a ship in the vast ocean, a lighthouse of reality.

And sitting patiently in the steps of the front door was Winston, the most innocent and loyal friend Will ever had (and could ever hope to have).

He waited for his master to come home every day; even when different people tried to take him away, he simply ran back home and sat again, waiting for someone who will never come back.

Sometimes, other people would wait with him too. Sometimes it was Jack Crawford who sat lost in his thoughts, mind clouded by the man he pushed too far. Sometimes, it would be Alana Bloom, who did not even know what (or whom) she was waiting for anymore.

A few times, many years later, the man that always used to give him pieces of sausage came as well. He grimaced slightly, but sat nonetheless on the dirty steps. Sometimes, he would talk to someone next to him, someone who was not really there.

Other times, he would simply wait next to Winston, staring wistfully to the distance.

This time, Will was next to Hannibal, petting his dog gently and softly, with the utmost care. His voice was a careful whisper. “Wade into the quiet of the stream."

Hannibal complied, closing his eyes, and opening a door that was never there before.

And before him stood the little lake Will always frequented, simple yet comforting.

But Will was not there.

He was never there.

-

Hannibal was walking down the muddy side of the river, hands in his pockets as he simply breathed in the nature.

When Will appeared next to him, he was not surprised anymore. He simply motioned invitingly to the vacant space next to him, and once Will flanked his side, they kept walking.

“You won’t psychoanalyze what this means?” Will asked, head tilting to the side as his lips turned upward in a small smirk.

Hannibal stopped, causing Will to stop as well, and the elder stared at how beautiful Will looked, with his eyes reflecting the sky and void of pain, his lips smiling, his curls wild and swaying with the wind.

_A child of nature_ , Hannibal mused, his fingers aching for a pencil and canvas to draw the raw beauty before his eyes. In that moment, he was Achilles, willing to burn down all of Greece just to have Patroclus in his arms one last time.

“It means,” he spoke, taking no consideration about his words, “that I deeply regret my actions, and that I deeply miss you.”

Will huffed out a breath that could have very well been a laugh. When Hannibal did not join in the comedic moment, Will’s eyes soften. He came closer, close enough that their breaths would have touched had Will had any breath at all.

“You wanted to surprise me,” he whispered, leaning closer, his eyes fluttering shut, “and I wanted to surprise you.”

-

Will looked towards the golden sky of Vienna, his hand trailing along the bridge they were currently walking on.

"Bedelia once told me that you would persuade me to kill someone I loved, thinking it was my only choice," he said, never once looking away from the beauty up above, something worthy of being in the canvas of Claude Monet. 

Hannibal could care less about the sky, with his eyes forever glued to the man next to him. "It is entirely too possible that Bedelia was wrong. No one that is subject to your love ever had to face you playing God."

"And it is entirely too possible for _you_ to be wrong," Will chuckled dryly, moving along with the curve of the bridge, forcing Hannibal to move faster. "I killed you, when you killed me."

His steps haltered to a stop, an involuntary flinch escaping his carefully composed persona at his companion's candor. He tried to speak, several times, but each time he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

Eventually, Will shook his head, tilted his face towards the sun, and absentmindedly spoke. "Look at the beautiful sky, Hannibal."

And he did. He looked at the streaks of gold highlighted all along the blue landscape, the clear clouds shuffling along as the wind picked up speed. And once he was all alone again, in the solitude of his house, he laid in bed and used messy and tainting charcoal to paint a beautiful portrait of a man's back, curls in disarray, eyes closed and lips pulled together in a smile.

-

“I wish I could have shown you Florence,” Hannibal whispered across the distance, watching from his safe shelter from the rain under the entrance of a church as Will opened his arms upward, face relaxed as he let the droplets fall on him.

Will shook his head, coming closer to where Hannibal stood, perfectly dried. He, too, leaned against the wooden entrance of the Catholic church, humming softly. “In another life.”

“In another life,” Hannibal agreed, sighing when he turned his head only to not see Will anymore, having disappeared once again, washed away with the rain.

-

That night, Hannibal booked two airplane tickets landing in the heart of Italy, Rome, as well as two train tickets with no stops to Florence. He did not tell Bedelia, and she did not ask any questions.

Two tickets: one for Roberto Pesci, belonged to Hannibal; the other, Angelo Pesci, belonged to his husband.

The day the airplane was bound to leave, Will did not come. Instead, Hannibal politely smiled at the flight assistant, and when she asked if he was waiting for someone (after seeing him glance wistfully at the seat next to him) he shook his head, that smile still in his lips, and said, “il mio amante, ma non verrà.”

The attendant gave him a nod, walked away, and Hannibal was left alone in a seat by the aisle, staring out the window as he saw the fading Austria become smaller and smaller.

And Will never came.

-

“You were supposed to leave.” His voice shakes as his body trembles, turning around to find Hannibal covered in blood that is not his, eyes clear, the cupid of his lips split.

“We couldn’t leave without you,” he responds, placing his hand tenderly - _lovingly_ \- on Will’s scruffy cheek, holding the teacup with careful hands before letting it fall.

The teacup shattered into a million unsalvageable pieces.

-

Bedelia watched as Hannibal played Mozart on the imperial Bösendorfer, a glass of red wine sitting atop the dark wood ( _rude_ ).

She watched as he paused midway the composition, drinking a bit, then continuing his perusal of a music sheet only he could see.

He must have felt her presence, but he did nothing to acknowledge her, and simply kept playing.

That night, she crawled into a cold bed with her head filled to the brim of Requiem in D minor, the lack of voices ringing in her ears.

She closed her eyes and left the wounded bird on the ground.

-

“Roses,” he mused out loud, fingering the soft petals between his thumb and index finger, “why?”

“They are the most classical of all,” Hannibal answered, picking up his own flower. “The original statement for love.”

“And pain,” Will added, prickling his finger with a sharp thorn, watching as the skin opened but no blood ever came out.

“And pain,” Hannibal agreed.

Will brought the flower closer to his mouth, gently kissing it, before asking, “thorns and all?”

Hannibal nodded, his own eyes never straying far from Will’s. “Thorns and all.”

Together, they bit into the red roses, thorns and all, blood spilling from Hannibal as Will watched.

-

The hand behind Will's neck applied firm pressure, fingers catching on some strands of curly hair as Hannibal kept a tight hold on Will, who only gazed back with heated eyes.

“With all my knowledge and intuition I could never entirely predict you.” Hannibal whispered, his voice heavier with accent and emotion. His eyes stared in wonder at Will, the only man who was capable of surprising him still. “I can feed the caterpillar, I can whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me.”

Their foreheads touched as Hannibal huffed out a small chuckle of incredulity, feeling strangely mortal in this moment. Will leaned closer, grabbing at Hannibal’s suit to hold himself steady.

“Hannibal—" Will muttered, his eyes falling shut. Hannibal could only watch with a stuttered gasp as Will began to bleed out, and beneath Hannibal’s hand the bone was crushed, the skin falling apart.

He could only watch as Will crumbled beneath his fingers, everything falling apart too much, too fast.

Too soon.

-

He was writing in a notebook when he felt someone’s gaze on his back. Not bothering to turn around, Hannibal called back, “Long time no see.”

“Long time no see indeed.” Will agreed, walking closer to peek from Hannibal’s shoulder at the writings in the journal. The page was filled with intricate mathematical equations, multiple attempts at the string theory, trying to find a way to reverse entropy.

To turn back time.

“Didn’t know you were a mathematician on top of-“ he waved his hands around, “everything else.”

Hannibal simply smiled, albeit tightly, continuing his efforts to find an solution, something, anything that would bring the teacup back together. “It’s more of a hobby than a passion.”

Will nodded, walking away and sitting on his usual spot in the sofa. “Won’t disturb you then.”

-

_It seemed fitting_ , she thought, _to say goodbye._

Bedelia gazed coolly at the smooth stone on the ground, a simple reminder of man’s mortality.

“It seems you were Frankenstein’s Bride after all.” She drawled out, laying the white roses she had brought next to the grave.

“Yet you weren’t killed by the Creature,” she smiled bitterly, walking back towards her car, unaware of the man staring at her back just a few ways in the distance, “you were killed by Victor himself.”

-

“What God do you pray to?” He asked confusedly, his hands on either side of the chair he sat back at the doctor’s office in Baltimore.

Hannibal smiled, his teeth sharp. "I no longer pray."

Will turned his head to the side, confusion shining in his eyes. “No longer?"

"Too many tragedies have surrounded me," he began, aware that none of this was real (yet it all was), "and no God has ever listened."

"You didn't listen either," Will told him, smiling as blood began to drip from his mouth, a red stain in his stomach coming to life, "you didn't listen."

Hannibal turned to look at Shiva, finding beauty in the face of misery. He shook his head, "I am not a God, Will."

-

Hannibal Lecter visited Will Graham’s grave only once.

The tombstone, written by Jack or Alana, read “Loyal until the end.”

They didn’t know on what side he was on, however. They never learnt the truth.

“I wasn’t loyal to them,” Will muttered, coming closer to where Hannibal stood. “After I heard your voice, I wasn’t loyal to them.”

Hannibal sighed, his shoulders dropping from tiredness. “Let’s go home.”

-

“No,” he gasped out, his side throbbing, his breath stuttering, “not your life, no.”

“My freedom then,” his voiced boomed across the kitchen, making Will flinch and close his eyes, “you would have my freedom taken from me.”

“No,” Will shook his head, “you will have my life taken.”

Hannibal’s eyes widen as his mind registered the knife in his hand, the warm blood splattered in his face, and the dying man in front of him, “No no no—"

“I’m finally dead, by your hand, just like you always wanted.”

-

Sometimes one just needs to return home.

Sometimes, we just need to go back to our roots, back to our childhood rooms, back to the willow trees we used to climb, back to the streets we used to play in.

For Hannibal, returning home means returning to a life of sorrow.

For Hannibal, returning home is a punishment he deserves.

"Why did you come here?" Will asked, walking alongside Hannibal through the snowy dystopia that saw the birth of a monster.

"To remind myself."

"Of what?"

"That I have lived without you. That I can live without you."

Will began to chuckle, dryly letting out puffs of air. "Do you think that's still the truth?"

Hannibal looked at Will, at how the snowy flakes passed right by him, not touching any of the delicate details that made up who he is. 

"We shall see."

-

One day, Bedelia packed her bags, drank one last glass of wine, and walked into the study Hannibal had clearly said she was not allowed in.

She did not enter His side of the veil to be bored with the stereotypical tragedy of a miserable man. Her time here was up.

He looked up from where he was staring off at the opposite side of the couch he was sitting at, Will smirking once he caught sight of the blond psychiatrist.

She waited for him to say something, and when he simply raised an eyebrow, she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“You have departed from me,” she began, coming closer to where the pair where sited, “though I believe you were never here.”

Hannibal reclined back on the sofa, amusement coloring his face as he drank from the wine glass to his left. if she noticed the second tumbler of whiskey to his right, warm and untouched, she wisely did not say anything.

“You ache for him,” Bedelia ventured, knowing she was crossing into dangerous territory but wanting ( _aching_ ) to see the raw beast at least once in her life, “you are _starved_ from the lack of him.”

Will had not said anything thus far, but upon noticing the small cracks on the person suit of Hannibal, he could not stay quiet any longer.

“Hannibal,” he whispered, “are you in love with me?”

The room was silent. Hannibal stared out the window, looking strangely vulnerable in that small moment. He turned around, looking at Will, though Bedelia only thought he was looking at the piano in the corner.

He finally broke the silence. “You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love.”

He stared straight into Will’s eyes as he spoke.

Bedelia nodded, grabbing the bags she had left in the floor. She turned on her heel, and began to walk away.

“In another life,” she threw over her shoulder, more than aware of how utterly rude she was being, yet no longer caring, “perhaps I‘ll be able to tell you a story to spare me another night.”

-

Around four months later, Hannibal wrote a letter directed to the Lecter Manor, in Aukštaitija, Lithuania.

The name in front of the envelope, written in a eloquent cursive, simply said “Chiyoh."

Hannibal must have seen the curiosity in Will’s eyes, for he smiled slightly, sealing the envelope with a red wax seal, and saying, “an old childhood friend.”

Will nodded, sitting in the arm of the chair Hannibal sat on, his eyes widening slightly. "And what are you telling her?"

"That everything in my property now belongs to her."

Hannibal smiled when Will stopped, simply staring at him straight in the eyes.

-

They were by the stream again, walking as one alongside the current.

"You will regret this," Will's voice broke the silent spell, making everything come to life.

Hannibal looked away from his companion, staring at the fishes swimming all along the river, the water calm and serene.

He looked back at Will, who simply stared at Hannibal. His lips were almost in a frown.

With a shake of the head, Hannibal brought himself closer to Will, wishing for the heat of a flame that he himself had snuffed, "No more than I already regret taking your life."

They waded through the quiet of the stream.

-

There was no reason as to why anyone would fire their gun in that moment, with the Chesapeake Reaper finally on his knees, defeated.

No reason other than Jack Crawford wanting to end this hunt, once and for all.

And for the first time, as Hannibal felt the bullet pierce the skin of his stomach, tearing through the tense muscle, ripping his pancreas and narrowly brushing against the aorta, he felt at peace.

The bullet stayed there, giving him a smile oddly similar to the one he had given Will before. The last smile he had ever given Will. 

Will, who was laying on the dirt next to him, had his own hands clutching at his stomach where the wound that killed him once was. He stared at the fallen man next to him, reaching with his other hand toward Hannibal's cheek, caressing it softly. He closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the light touch, so soft yet strong enough that he felt no pain.

"It'll happen faster than you expect it." Will said, causing Hannibal to open his eyes to gaze back at the man next to him, eyes blue that reminded him so much of a Lithuania sky when he was younger. “In a few seconds, sepsis will kick in, and you will pass out. Septic shock will take you.”

Will leaned closer to brush his bloody hand against Hannibal’s mortal wound, lips pulled together in a grim smile.

“It seems you are not God after all,” he simply said, rubbing with more pressure the wound.

And Hannibal, for the first time in all these years without Will, could finally feel the caress as his life drew closer and closer to the grips of oblivion.

“See?” Will whispered, his lips coming closer to Hannibal’s, giving him a warmth that made Hannibal wish for a faster death. _“See?”_

“You’re beautiful,” Hannibal muttered, his lips touching Will’s for the first time, one last breath for death.

-

Their mind palace become one soon after.

Opening one door led to Hannibal’s kitchen, back at his home in Baltimore. Opening another led to Will’s house in Wolf Trap, with the company of his pack.

They were currently on another door, at the entrance of the Norman Chapel, their knees crossed over one another, looking pointedly straight ahead.

A simple reminder of mortality was present, in the form of a skull engraved on the floor.

-

Hannibal awoke a few seconds after, still in the floor with a bullet to his side. He could vaguely see Jack fighting with some paramedics, trying to delay them from saving him.

Will smiled when he saw Hannibal with his eyes open slightly. He leaned closer again, whispering to his ear, “come with me.”

_Always_ , Hannibal thought, and they weren’t at Wolf Trap anymore.

Instead, they were standing at the side of a cliff that Hannibal vaguely recognized, both of them bloodied but holding one another tightly.

“See?” Hannibal asked, once he caught sight of the mutilated body a few feet away from them. “This is all I ever wanted for you, Will.”

A pause.

“For both of us.”

-

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, the Chesapeake Reaper, was pronounced dead at 11:38 P.M. by the Virginia Emergency Medical Team.

-

Freddie Lounds posted an article in TattleCrime.com at 11:47 P.M.

“JUSTICE AT LAST, HANNIBAL LECTER, THE CHESAPEAKE REAPER, DEAD!”

-

"I gave you a rare gift," Hannibal said, never once looking away from Will, "but you didn't want it."

"Didn't I?" Will spit, to which Hannibal inclined his head, looking resigned as he realized just how far his forgiveness had gone.

Hannibal sighed, a lone tear falling from his eye as he came closer to Will, kneeling in front of him, aching to hold him and have him.

"You saw me, you knew me," he mutters, letting his head fall, "you came to my side of the veil without me knowing."

"Hannibal," the other gasped out, "you are not God."

"I am not God," he admitted, finally realizing just how precious human life truly is when Will no longer had any life left.

-

Will laid his head across Hannibal’s chest, his hand gripping the other’s shoulder tightly.

The blood seemed so much darker under the moonlight, he realized, huffing out breaths as he closed his eyes.

“It’s beautiful.”

They stood there by the side of the cliff, a mess of blood and limbs, tightly conjoined, never separating again.

And Will, sweet Will, never ceased to surprised Hannibal, not even in death.

For he gripped Hannibal even tighter, and took them both over the edge of the cliff, and into the awaiting arms of the ocean.


End file.
